


Alone

by PFL (msmoat)



Series: The Heart Series [3]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-15
Updated: 2008-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie wakes up alone. ("Missing" scene after the story "I Will Lay Down My Heart.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

Sunlight was slanting across his bed when Bodie opened his eyes. It was quiet in the room and there were few noises outside his flat. Most of the world was at work, but he had a day off and no need to stir from bed unless he wanted to. He stretched, felt the brush of the sheet over his cock, and thought of Doyle.

It would have been better to find Doyle still with him. He could have rolled over, pressed close to him, rubbed his cock against him. But Doyle was gone. Was he out for a run? Reading? Doyle in the kitchen making breakfast would have been Bodie's choice, but he didn't hold out much hope for that. Yet he smiled, feeling more lighthearted than he had in months. Doyle had come to him last night. The pendulum had swung back in his favour. Maybe this time they could make it last longer. Doyle had been different. And he himself...well, he hadn't wanted to wake up beside Mitch, had he?

He climbed out of bed, hesitated a moment, then went to the living room and on to the kitchen. Doyle wasn't in the flat. It was stupid to feel disappointment. It wasn't as if they were in the habit of spending the morning after together. Unless they were on the job. And, okay, he'd been the one to set that pattern. So he could be the one to break it. He smiled slightly, imagining Doyle's reaction. _Rules and expectations_. He'd realised last night he might be able to live with them. If he took it slowly. If Doyle was reasonable.

Bodie headed for the bathroom and a shower. He'd take advantage of the day and run some of the many errands that had piled up while he'd been busy with the annual assessment. Maybe he'd have lunch at the pub...or the chippie near the launderette. After a week of the food Jack Craine thought was appropriate, his body was more than ready to fill up on fried grub. Doyle would--

He stopped towelling himself dry. It wasn't just the morning. He wanted to spend the day with Doyle. How long had it been since they'd shared a non-work day? He wanted to meet up with Doyle, have a drink with him down at the pub, eat together, and finish the day as it should have begun--in bed. Christ. That wasn't taking it slowly. That was...bloody dangerous. He grinned, then finished drying and dressed quickly in dark trousers and a cream poloneck. He'd have to ring Doyle. Why hadn't the bugger just stayed? He should've known Bodie would want him to.

That thought made him pause as he entered the living room. It was one thing to want Doyle, but just how bloody needy was he? One night. Just one sodding night and he was ready to-- Bodie closed his eyes for a moment. Why had Doyle come to him last night? Because he needed Bodie? Or because he'd known how much Bodie craved being fucked by him?

Bugger it. He'd call Doyle and worry about the consequences later. Doyle had made the gesture--for whatever reason--and it was up to him to match it.

There was no answer at Doyle's flat, and he frowned as he replaced the receiver. Ray could be out half the day if he was running errands. He found there was no relief to ease the disappointment he felt. Fine. Doyle could think what he liked about him. Dammit. He'd try him again later. In the meanwhile, he might as well do some of his own shopping. Bodie put on his shoulder holster and grabbed his jacket. Maybe Doyle would ring him.

As he headed for the door, his gaze fell on a piece of paper on the coffee table. He detoured to pick it up, and saw it was Doyle's assessment. He read the words and for a moment it seemed everything stopped--breath, sound, light. Doyle had failed. Doyle was to be removed from the A squad. Doyle.

He took a breath, but it wasn't deep enough. He was moving and out the door before he'd made any conscious decision. There was a strange sort of pressure against his chest and lungs--as if he were pinned in a vice. All he could think was that he needed to get to Doyle's flat. He--oh Christ. No. Doyle wouldn't. Couldn't.

 _Seemed like a good night to remember_.

He shut down his thoughts. He drove the car with careful precision to Doyle's block, found a parking space, and walked up two flights of stairs. It was only as his key was in the lock that he hesitated. What would Doyle think if he burst in on him?

 _No more talking. Make love to me_.

Bodie turned the key in the lock, entered the flat, turned off the alarms. And the vice squeezed, unrelenting, taking his breath away.

There was furniture in the flat, a few decorations and paintings on the walls, and plants on the tables. But Doyle's belongings were gone--the ones that had made every move with him over the years. There were no soldiers, no books. The stereo system was there--the records were not. Bodie walked through the flat. The kitchen looked the same as always, but the Browning wasn't under the sink. Doyle's kit and toothbrush weren't in the bathroom. His clothes were gone. In his bedroom only the framed "Desiderata" reminded Bodie of Doyle. He felt like smashing it.

 _Make love to me_.

He didn't know how long he stood in the bedroom, feeling the emptiness of a place deserted by its keeper. Feeling akin to it, somehow. It was just a flat. Just a career. Just a lover. Just a fucking partnership.

"Bodie?"

Bodie's stomach clenched, and it felt like something twisted in his chest--sharp and painful. Murphy. He hadn't heard him enter the flat. Shit. Murphy's tone of voice told him all he needed to know, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

Damn him. Damn Doyle. Damn them all.

The anger freed him. He turned and faced Murphy, his expression under control. "Cowley sent you?" And he had a flash of horrifying hope: Doyle was in hospital--injured. Dead, even. He could handle their fucking reactions better if Doyle was dead rather than gone. Oh, Christ.

"You weren't answering your phone or R/T. Cowley suggested I look--"

"Doyle's resigned."

"That's the rumour." And, fuck, under the curiosity in Murphy's face and eyes was the sympathy he didn't want.

He shrugged. "What does Cowley want?" He brushed past Murphy as he left the room.

"You. In his office." Murphy followed him.

"Typical."

"He seemed...surprised. Did you--?"

"Know what Doyle planned to do?" Bodie raised his eyebrow. "He was my partner."

Murphy tilted his head. "Past tense."

"A failed assessment does that to a partnership. Shall we go?" He gestured towards the front door, and easily met Murphy's assessing gaze. The vice hadn't eased, but it had become an ally now, holding him together. He closed the door behind them. There was nothing he wanted in the flat.

"Oi. Set the locks?"

Bodie's jaw tightened as he turned back to the door. Bloody mistake. He had better get himself in order before he met with Cowley. He followed Murphy to the street and turned towards his car.

"Bodie." Murphy's voice was apologetic. "Cowley told me to bring you in. I can get one of the lads to pick up your car."

"Right." What the fuck did Cowley expect him to do? Bugger off after Doyle? He wasn't that much of a fool. Bloody Cowley.

Murphy started the car and pulled out into traffic. "Even so...to just resign? Like that?" Murphy sounded bewildered.

"What else?" Run away without a fucking word. Give up on everything. Everyone. Quit like a sodding coward.

"There has to be more to it. Cowley would've kept him. Assigned him--"

"It's done. He made his choice. I can't say I blame him for not wanting a desk job." _Make love to me_. Screw that. Doyle had fucked him and left. He'd lorded it over him one more bloody time. Took what he wanted and ran. Damn him.

He felt Murphy's gaze and turned his head to meet it. Murphy looked away. "That's it, then?"

"You know the score." One man left the squad, another replaced him. The cycle was inevitable.

Murphy nodded, but didn't answer. Bodie looked out the window. He could find Doyle. Hell, the bastard probably wanted him to do just that. Run after him, beg, just like-- Fuck it. Doyle had made his choice in every way. Off the squad, out of CI5, away from Bodie. Did it matter? In the end, did it really matter? It always came down to number one. Proof positive. He watched the cars and buildings flash by and felt himself gradually settle inside.

"Cowley will probably team us," Murphy said.

"Probably." He was better off without Doyle complicating his life. He could go out anytime--plenty of birds and mates. Easy enough to find rough trade for a night, if that's what he wanted. No strings. No complications. No goddamn bloody rules.

"You're all right with that, then?"

"Yeh." Where the fuck would Doyle go? Away from London, he thought. Manchester, or even fucking Liverpool. He couldn't have much of a plan in place. Too hot, that always was Doyle's trouble. He wouldn't be able to disappear without a trace.

"Good."

It was better to be cool, keep it cool. You couldn't afford to give a damn. Thank Christ he'd finally learnt that lesson.

There was no more conversation until Murphy stopped the car at the front entrance to HQ.

"Not coming in?" Bodie asked.

"Obbo." Murphy's eyes were those of an agent on duty--impersonal, focused. Bodie felt something loosen within him. No more curiosity, no more sympathy. He could work with Murphy.

"Ta." Bodie climbed out of the car, shut the door, and walked towards HQ. Alone. He ignored his memories.

END

_February, 2008_

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Time Stamp story at the request of Nell Howell. It is set right after "I Will Lay Down My Heart" and before "And You Can Have This Heart to Break."
> 
> I don't fully approve of this....


End file.
